by Phil Tucker
“Cross the netherworld,” said Sisu. “Down there, I will be like a god myself.” He smiled. “I think it’s an excellent idea.”
Kish groaned and covered her eyes. “I thought this was a bad idea. Now I know it’s the worst.”
“Let’s speak to Elu,’ said Acharsis. “This has to happen tonight.”
“You’re going to interrupt his official ceremony of ascension?” asked Annara.
“I… yes. I am.” Acharsis grimaced. “I know. Poor timing. But that’s why we’re all so fortunate that I’m as charming as I am.”
“Really,” said Annara.
“Look at it this way,” said Acharsis. “I’m giving him even more cause to want to send me to the netherworld and be rid of me. Now come on. Our night’s only just beginning.”
CHAPTER TWO
The broad, pale steps that led up to the lamassu’s temple glowed like polished bone in the light of Ninsaba’s moon. Acharsis breathed deep to steady his nerves. His plan, which had seemed almost reasonable in the safety of the palace and with a cup of beer in hand, seemed increasingly suicidal as he climbed to the entrance of the Third Tower of Heaven. He turned to smile reassuringly at his companions, but their faces were uniformly grim. Acharsis’ smile turned into a grimace and he turned back to the last of the steps. He didn’t blame them. He was, after all, asking them to literally die for him and the River Cities.
Elu climbed ahead, stiff-backed and silent. He was taking their abandonment well, Acharsis thought. Moderately well. At least his incredulity and anger had given way to cold restraint. A sharp gesture from Elu caused the temple guards to melt away, stepping back into the darkness amidst the columns. No, he was still furious.
They followed Elu inside and up to the second floor of the temple. Flames leaped up from bronze braziers, illuminating the high walls and bringing to life the vividly colored figures and inscriptions that covered them, but these sources of light were set too far apart to light up the whole of the temple, so that Elu led them from one island of light to another.
The lamassu wasn’t present in its audience chamber. Acharsis felt the god’s absence before he even made out the distant dais. Footsteps echoing loudly, they traversed the length of the great hall and stopped before the steps that led up to the carved marble cloud.
“He comes,” said Elu, voice hard.
“Does he know what we wish to ask?” Acharsis fought the urge to hug himself.
“Not yet,” said Elu. “I thought it best to let you put your request to him in person.”
“Great,” said Acharsis. “That’s great. Thanks.”
They stood in silence, awed by the scope of the chamber and their imminent audience, until a rushing whisper of air caused them to look up. The ceiling over the dais was a massive rectangle of darkness, and it was from that hole that the sound of wings could be heard.
A downdraft of wind suddenly blew forth, causing Acharsis to throw an arm up before his eyes, and then the lamassu was there, alighting on his dais, great wings furling on his back, his scent and presence hitting Acharsis like a blow from a hammer. Heart pounding, he lowered his arm and forced himself to stand straight, to gaze up at the godlike being whom he was about to offend so gravely.
The lamassu was huge. It didn’t lie down as before, but rather sat, tail curling around its haunches, the talons that emerged from its leonine paws curving over the dais’ edge. In the light of the braziers its fur and wings glimmered like hammered bronze shot through with seams of copper and gold. Twin horns like those of a bull rose from over its triangular ears, and though its upper lip was smooth a great beard reached down to its paws, oiled and woven with metallic threads of crimson, blue, and silver.
Its face was broad and striking, that of a powerful man in his forties, with harsh, rugged cheekbones, a flattened shovel of a nose and a broad mouth. Its heavy brow beetled down over its recessed eyes. It was at once monstrous and awesome, regal and inhuman, powerful and indolent, sensual and terrifying.
Acharsis lowered himself to one knee, as did everyone but Elu, who, with admirable self-possession, simply bowed from the waist.
“I see you, Senacherib, third of your name, Child of the Ever Burning Sun and Ruler of Magan.” The lamassu’s voice reverberated through the fastness of the great hall, redolent with power and authority.
“My heartfelt thanks,” said Elu. “Glory be upon you, protector of Magan, psychopomp and lord of the land. May the sun never set on your rule, and may the moon mark the passing of your eras.”
Nicely said, thought Acharsis. He’s getting good at this.
“From across Magan the people come to honor you,” said the lamassu. “Lines of fire trace their passage from the farthest province to your palace pylon. Even here I can hear the plucking of the harp and the sound of feet in dance. Yet you do not attend them. Why have you come?”
“I left the ceremony with great reluctance,” said Elu. “And only at Acharsis’ insistence. He wishes to put a request to you. I heard his reasoning, and agreed to the urgency of his mission.”
The lamassu’s gaze turned from Elu to fall upon Acharsis, and it was as if an oven door had been thrown open but yards from where Acharsis knelt. With a cough he stood, bowed once for good measure, and then pushed back his shoulders.
“Great lamassu, forgive me if I offend. What I ask I do so for the good of Magan and the River Cities. I wish to save thousands from dying needlessly, to save Magan from great effort that will only drain its resources, and to take care of Irella myself.”
“Noble ambitions,” said the lamassu. “What is it you desire?”
The moment was upon him. Acharsis felt his throat close up as he stared up at the god. Felt with terrible appreciation how heretical his next words were. He coughed again into his remaining fist and then inhaled deeply.
“We wish to consult with our fathers, Ekillos and Alok. We seek their wisdom in how to defeat Irella without plunging the world into war.”
The lamassu’s eyes narrowed. “I will not offend Nekuul by traveling to her domain.”
“We do not ask that of you. Instead, we humbly beg that you take us to your own netherworld. Carry us as you do the souls of the dead, and we shall take it upon ourselves to journey to Nekuul’s netherworld and there question our fathers.”
The lamassu’s tail twitched, the tufted tip lifting up and then whipping back down. Despite himself, Acharsis licked his dry lips. Still, he held the god’s golden gaze.
“If I were to ferry you down as I do the souls of the dead, how would you return to the world of the living?”
Acharsis froze. He wanted to clap his hand over his brow and curse his stupidity. The journey to reach his fallen father had consumed his thoughts, to the extent that he’d not thought about what would come next. Still. No time to show doubt or fear. “I am sure Ekillos will provide me with that answer.”
Silence. The lamassu’s tail twitched from side to side. Acharsis couldn’t breathe. He stood completely still, locked by the god’s gaze, aware of how delicate his skin was, how quickly and easily the lamassu could tear him in half if it so chose.
“If I may,” said Elu, taking a step forward. “I believe this to be the best for Magan. I have outlined to my generals, high priests and royal delegates my intentions to remove Irella from the throne, and, well, they haven’t been very happy.”
“You are the pharaoh,” said the lamassu. “Their joy depends on your favor.”
“I know, I know. But even so. It’s part of being a good ruler to know how to lead your country, not just to drive it recklessly where you will. What I mean is, Magan would be best served if we didn’t have to cross the Golden Steppe on a mission to free the River Cities, a campaign that would take several years, only to retreat and come home with nothing to show for it but a grateful new neighbor. Instead, we could focus our energies on more pressing matters, like the encroaching desert to the east, the need to modernize our irrigation systems up and down the river, the reports
of failing crops, the hunger that stalks our land…”
The lamassu pursed its clean-shaven lips.
“As pharaoh, such is my opinion,” finished Elu weakly.
Acharsis wanted to say something, itched to provide the final line of reasoning that would tip events into their favor, but instinct bade him stay quiet. Instead, he watched, heart in his throat, until finally the lamassu gave a curt nod.
“If the pharaoh believes it best for our nation, then I shall carry you to the Glittering Lands.”
“Thank you,” said Acharsis, dropping to one knee again. “Thank you, my lord. The River Cities shall never forget this boon.”
“Further, I shall furnish you with a guide,” said the lamassu. “It would be folly to deposit you in the netherworld only for you to be crystalized or burned to death by song within moments of your sallying forth. I shall gather a soul from the Fields of Reflection and command that it guide you as far as it can.”
“That - that is remarkably generous of you,” said Acharsis. “Thank you again.”
“You are all companions of the pharaoh, and your aid during his Quickening helped bring him to the throne. Magan owes you all a debt of gratitude. In this matter, I shall consider us even.” The lamassu rose to all fours. “Come. Let us go.”
“Now?” Acharsis turned to check on the others, who looked equally shocked. “To the netherworld?”
“You do not expect me to wait upon your pleasure?”
“No, of course not. To the netherworld. Right now. Great.” Acharsis ran his hand through his hair, tapped his hip for a blade and found none there. No matter. He doubted a metal sword would be of much use below. “Jarek? Everyone? We ready?”
Jarek rested his hand on the Sky Hammer. “I suppose. Yes.”
Kish gave a nod. Sisu was rubbing his hands in anticipation.
“Annara.” Acharsis stepped back to her, reached out with his hand to take her own. He didn’t know what to say. He felt guilty to be so eager to go. To take on this new adventure. To be leaving her behind.
Before he could speak, she reached up with both hands and pulled his face down to her own. Kissed him softly, then stepped away, eyes liquid with emotion. “Be safe, Acharsis. And may Ekillos guide your every step.”
“I - yes. And you.” He tried to think of something witty to say, final words worthy of the moment. I love you, he thought. But no. He hadn’t earned the right to say those words. He wouldn’t be so eager to leave if he meant them, would he? “Take care. And know that I’ll do everything I can to come back to your side.”
Jarek and Kish mounted the steps to the dais, Sisu right behind them. They exchanged quiet words with Elu, who turned to regard Acharsis as he approached.
“Good luck,” said Elu.
“And you. Take care of your mother.”
“I will if she lets me.” His smile was wry. “You know I will.”
“And - thank you.” There was so much Acharsis wanted to say. So much he wanted still to explore with this young man, his son, this stranger who had only recently begun to accept him in some fashion into his life. “I’m proud of you. You’re going to make a fine ruler.”
Elu’s smile twisted into a grimace, and for a moment Acharsis thought he might protest, state once more that he didn’t care for Acharsis’ opinion. But instead he reached out and clasped Acharsis’ hand. “Thank you. I look forward to hearing of your victories in the River Cities.”
Acharsis squeezed his son’s hand tightly, then gave him a curt nod and climbed the steps to the others. The lamassu stepped down from the dais and crouched so that they could all climb up onto its back; Acharsis went last, reaching up for Jarek’s extended hand to be hauled up and placed behind the lamassu’s horned head.
“I have only ferried three living souls into the netherworld,” said the lamassu, its voice rumbling in its chest. “One of them went mad in the process. Guard your thoughts, shield your mind. This is a voyage wholly unnatural to those yet encased in a sleeve of living flesh.”
It crouched and then leaped up, wings snapping out to catch the air and beat powerfully, the muscles shifting beneath Acharsis’ legs like barrels under carpet. Instinctively he reached out to grip a fistful of the lamassu’s mane, and felt Jarek’s steadying hand on his hip. Acharsis looked down, saw Annara’s upturned face, and then she was gone.
They climbed up into the dark shaft, moving swiftly, and then they were out in the night air. The lights of the city gleamed on the black waters of the river, the palace in particular glowing with a hundred torches and bonfires in the night. They rose, the wind chill, each downbeat of the lamassu’s wings lifting them ever closer to the stars.
Acharsis dared to look up. Never had he seen such a sky. Between each shining star a fainter star shone, so that the heavens appeared smeared with nacreous specks, like pearls crushed across a slab of obsidian. More, he could see what looked like vast clouds behind the stars, a vertical slash of black shot through with purples, smoky yellows and ivory whites.
Had he ever thought the night sky was black? Everywhere he looked now he saw gradations of color, cobalt blues overlaid by ribbons of imperial purples, the horizon limned with a golden light that silhouetted the distant hills in absolute black. Hints of green behind the stars, some of which were larger than he’d ever seen - blobs of pulsing white and platinum, others the faintest of pinpricks that made his eyes ache to try and make them out.
“By Alok,” whispered Jarek. “It’s as if I’ve never seen the sky.”
The lamassu flew on, no longer rising but soaring across the dark land below, confident in its chosen direction. Acharsis couldn’t tear his eyes from the heavens, from those bands of tinctured clouds behind the stars that seemed to whorl and flow as if time were passing with impossible speed.
“What’s that ahead?” He barely made out Kish’s question, but looked down to see golden light glowing amidst the hills below. The soft radiance grew brighter as they approached, as if a valley of gold were reflecting the light of an unseen sun.
“The Fields of Reflection,” said Acharsis, though he didn’t know if anybody heard. “I thought the name a pensive one, but perhaps it was more literal…”
They cleared the last line of peaks and Acharsis saw the fields below. They were a series of mountain meadows, and gently lit as if by afternoon sunlight. Thousands of robed figures sat or walked about them, engaged in conversation or deep in thought, and at their approach the masses below looked up in wonder and then fell to their knees.
The lamassu flew lower, dropping quickly so that soon it was skimming over the small meadows and the kneeling figures. Acharsis held tight to its mane and tried to make out the details, but they were still moving too fast. Then, without warning, the lamassu wheeled tightly, dropped like a stone, and alighted on the grass.
Stomach in his throat, Acharsis forced himself to inhale and saw that they’d come to rest in a small pocket meadow. A waterfall cascaded down a pile of large boulders into a clear pool, about which knelt a half-dozen individuals.
Acharsis studied them intently. They all wore white robes, and their skin was made luminous by a subtle glow all of their own that emanated from their cores. They were of varying ages, men and women, brows pressed to the viridian grass as they awaited the lamassu’s pleasure.
“Nahkt.” The lamassu’s voice was peremptory, and a young man raised his head to stare wide-eyed at them. “Approach.”
The youth climbed to his feet and did as he was bid. He was short, his frame wiry, but his face betrayed a keen intelligence as he studied Acharsis and his friends before bowing low to the lamassu once more.
“Introduce yourself to those whom I bear,” said the lamassu.
The youth straightened and studied them all with avid curiosity, and it was that sharp appraisal, the lively gleam of wonder and surprise in Nahkt’s eyes that caused Acharsis to finally appreciate where he was and whom he was looking at: the soul of a dead man.
Twisting, Acharsis
gazed about the pocket meadow, at the other souls, and then beyond to where the dead waited patiently, their expressions serene, their voices melding with the sound of falling water and the gentle wind. They had already crossed through the veil of the living into the world of the dead.
“In life I was known as Nahkt, high priest of the Sixth Tower of Heaven, Bearer of the Holy Flame, Adjudicator of the Balance, and Voice of the Lamassu.”
Sisu spoke Acharsis’ thoughts. “All that? But you’re younger than I am…”
Nahkt smiled with disarming amusement. “I was seventy-nine years old when I died.”
“In death,” rumbled the lamassu, “the soul returns to its most perfect image, to its truest sense of self.”
Nahkt bowed before the lamassu’s words, and then examined the backs of his unlined hands. “In my heart I know that this form is an illusion, just as the aging of my real body convinced me of the illusion of death’s finality. Even in death we remain temporal beings, and cannot apprehend the soul directly. Our limitations force us to understand ourselves and others as still caught in the flow of time, and thus we assign an image of the flesh onto the substance eternal. A lie.” He smiled. “But a pleasing lie.”
Acharsis returned the youth’s smile. “You saw yourself always first and foremost as a young man?”
Nahkt spread his hands. “The energy and zeal of youth never left me. Even as age tempered my excesses with hard-earned wisdom, I strove to retain a mind that was eager to learn. I was always most comfortable with the young, the curious, those who drank deep of the vibrancy of life. I cannot say I’m surprised to have taken this form in death, even if only for a little while.”
The lamassu seemed content to let them converse, but still Acharsis was painfully aware of the time he was spending on the god’s back. “You won’t hold onto this form when you reach the netherworld?”
“No,” said Nahkt. “Or, perhaps more accurately, I won’t be aware of it even if I do. Once I enter the grace of Amubastis’ presence, my focus shall finally shift from myself to a contemplation of the eternal now. I shall lose myself in that glory by becoming my truest self.”